


Reservations

by Fire_Sign



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-13 00:54:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10503057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Sign/pseuds/Fire_Sign
Summary: Five times Mac has concerns about the developing relationship between Jack and Phryne, and the one time she intervenes.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> It's Sassasam's birthday! Many happy returns of the day to her! ♥

Mac watched Phryne moved around the decadent Windsor suite, pausing to pour them each a drink before returning. If Mac had forgotten the sheer energy in Phryne Fisher after their years apart, the fact that her friend had stumbled across a cocaine ring and become a lady detective over the span of a few days corrected Mac in short order; still, she had missed her friend’s vivacity, and while it was too soon to tell how long this visit would last—really, Mac had expected her to flit off again once she’d dealt with the Foyle situation, but establishing a business did carry some hint of longevity—but she was thankful for any time they had. 

“You know, I saw that inspector again today,” Phryne said, handing Mac a glass and settling into one of the chairs. “The one that arrested Lydia Andrews? He felt that there were certain… elements of my witness statement that would not stand up to scrutiny in court.”

“Saw through your lies, did he?” asked Mac, examining her whiskey with great interest; it was an excellent bottle and it had been a long day.

“Unfortunately. He was very nice about it though, and when I came up with something slightly more plausible he went with it. I have to admit I was too busy with other distractions before, but did you notice that he has wonderful cheekbones?”

Mac knew that look; Phryne had found herself a new diversion. And while it was usually best to let her be diverted and move on, Mac wasn’t quite so sure this time.

“Not really my area of interest,” Mac pointed out.

“More for me then,” grinned Phryne.

“Scuttlebutt around the hospital is that he’s married,” Mac warned, not adding that she had seen the man come to the hospital at all hours on his investigations—it was not the habit of a happily married detective-inspector. “I thought you were avoiding that complication nowadays?”

“I suppose I’ll have to admire him from afar then,” Phryne sighed dramatically, taking another sip of whiskey. “Oh, did I mention? I’ve bought a house.”

———

“And then he quoted Antony and Cleopatra!” Phryne finished, grinning broadly. “Jack is far more fun than I initially gave him credit for, I must admit.”

“He’s still married,” Mac said, then cursed herself.

“Of course he is,” said Phryne, brow furrowing. “We’re strictly business. It’s just nice to enjoy the company of someone you work with. I had a case last week—missing jewels—with an inspector from another station, and the man literally _snivelled_ as he spoke. It was horrific.”

“Well, I can’t begrudge you that. Too many snivelling police officers and it might be you getting arrested,” teased Mac. 

“Now,” said Phryne, eyes going slightly dreamy, “if he weren’t….”

Mac raised a hand in protest, and Phryne laughed. “I think you’d like him, Mac.” 

“Well, I certainly don’t _dislike_ him.”

“Which is practically a glowing recommendation from you!”

Mac returned to her cocktail while she formulated a reply, but before one could come there was a knock on the door.

“Mr. Chung for you, Miss Fisher,” said her friend’s butler, and that was Mac’s cue to leave.

She was gathering her hat as a man entered the room.

“I am not interrupting, am I?” he asked, his voice smooth.

“Not at all, Lin. This is my friend Mac—”

“Delighted, I’m sure,” said Mac dryly; she’d met more of Phyrne’s casual lovers than she had ever cared to, and they were always gone before she could do more than exchange pleasantries. “I’ll see myself out, shall I?”

Phryne said goodbye, most of her attention already already on the charming man who was kissing her hand. Mac tried not to roll her eyes; if Phryne was distracted by him, at least she’d stop daydreaming about the inspector. There were rumours flying around the hospital board that Sidney Fletcher and the inspector’s wife were about to announce an engagement, which meant the divorce was already in the works; a revelation that could lead to nothing good, in Mac’s opinion.

———

In hindsight, Mac should have realised there was something off between Phryne and her inspector—and Jack had become _her_ inspector, somehow, despite Mac’s reservations—weeks earlier. Phryne had been going out more often, dancing a little more wildly; not, Mac thought, in an attempt to forget but perhaps to drown out the noise of the nightcaps that weren’t. She’d presumed, with the little thought she’d given it, that they simply hadn’t had any cases. 

And while Mac liked Jack, respected him, even trusted him implicitly, she was not entirely certain that his presence was a positive force in Phryne Fisher’s life. No man had ever loved Phryne Fisher and emerged unscathed—it was simply the nature of the beast—and while Mac was sorry that the inspector was one of them, her concern lay with Phryne. Because this time, it seemed, the damage had gone both ways; and if he could have this power over her as a friend—unintended though it undoubtedly was—Mac could not bear the thought of how much worse it could become. 

The doubts lingered in the back of her mind as she arrived at Wardlow for a drink, as she discussed the logistics of Beatrice Mason’s scholarship with Phryne, as she felt the weight of Bradbury’s betrayal lift from her shoulders. They were almost forgotten by the time Jack arrived, carrying a dossier on Mac that could destroy her career—”Revolutionary tendencies and suspect associates,” she read, and Phryne expressed her approval—and finding a quiet space in Phryne’s parlour to occupy.

As they talked and teased—“Intelligent women do have their uses, inspector,” said Phryne, and the looks they exchanged were an entire conversation unto itself—Mac realised that Phryne was more herself than she had been in weeks. And while she was very glad to see her friend, she was still less than certain on Jack’s role in it. Deciding it was time to take her leave, Mac finished her whiskey and expressed a sincere admiration for the man Jack was in the driest possible tones; his quiet, amused acceptance of her comment told her he’d understood the intention, and she was glad for it.

As she left the house and headed down the path to her own motorcar, Mac glanced back; through the parlour window she saw their silhouettes moving closer, and she hoped it was not a mistake.

———

Mac eyed the tumbler of whiskey in Phryne’s hand, then eyed the clock on the mantelpiece.

“A bit early for that, isn’t it darling?” she asked, setting down her medical bag. “I hear last night was quite a to-do.”

“Here to play nursemaid, Mac?” Phryne teased, her eyes exhausted but the rest of her in good spirits at least. 

“More like doctor.”

“How did you find out?”

Jack at the hospital, dealing with Sidney Fletcher. Dot on the telephone. Aunt Prudence on the warpath. Pick any one. 

“A little birdie told me,” she said instead, unlatching the bag. “Let’s have a look.”

Phryne was fine—a little bruised and a little sore, but fine. 

“What’s the whiskey for than?” Mac asked, and Phryne looked away.

“He came here last night,” she said quietly.

Who? Oh. Of course.

“Jack?”

“Of course Jack. I’m hardly inviting Sidney Fletcher around for late night conversations, now am I?”

Mac shook her head and wondered when Jack Robinson had somehow begun to eclipse every other man in Phryne’s life.

“But he came here, after making sure that his ex-wife was… Mac,” and here Phryne’s eyes met hers, glimmering with unshed tears. “He came _here_ , Mac. And it was late and we were both exhausted and horrified and—all I wanted to do was see him. Talk to him. And he came, and I think… I think being friends is no longer enough.”

It had been a long time coming, and perhaps it was inevitable. 

“And when it’s over?” Mac asked. “When you’ve grown bored or he tries to confine you? What then, Phryne?”

“Maybe we won’t.”

“That is an awful lot to ride on a maybe.” 

Phryne nodded. “I know. Believe me, I know. Hence whiskey at eleven in the morning.”

Mac sighed. “I’m off for the rest of the day. Pour me a glass.”

———

“And then— _and then_ —my father swung open the door and knocked him unconscious!” 

Phryne was pacing the parlour, her father’s cravat twisting in her hands, the beads of her seafoam green dress glittering in the lights.

“And you called me?” Mac asked. She’d had plans for the evening that did _not_ include being called to Wardlow to attend an unconscious police officer—who was fine, and his state was no doubt more the result of alcohol and nerve tonic on an empty stomach than a head injury—and trying to calm down an increasingly frantic Phryne.

“Mac, what if he never forgives me?”

Mac gaped for a moment. “A man just—after a day of sharp remarks—came into your house, drank to excess, accused you of… I’m actually not sure what, and you’re concerned that he might not forgive _you_?” 

Phryne huffed and threw herself into a seat.

“When you phrase it like that, it sounds awful. But it’s not that at all. I behaved abominably, tonight and last night.”

“Even if that’s true—and it very well might be—that does not absolve him of responsibility.”

Phryne paused for a moment, looking at Mac. “You really are cross with him, aren’t you?”

“I think…” Mac hesitated. “As your friend, I will say that this is not filling me with confidence. For either of you, really. Phryne, you need someone who will push back, not bury their wishes and desires until they explode behind a bottle.”

“Not that I really gave him a chance,” said Phryne, a little bitterly. “Last night was supposed to be… then my father showed up and I had to cancel and I phrased it so horribly he thought I’d cancelled because someone else had come up and then there was murder and—”

“Ah-ah!” Mac said, raising a hand to silence her. “That is the other thing. Your friendship has managed to survive your frankly horrible communication skills because you’ve had the investigations to fall back on. If you’re serious about pushing forward—”

“I am.”

“—if you’re serious, you’ll both have to get better at _talking_ to each other.”

“Yes, well, that will have to wait until the nerve tonic wears off,” said Phryne with her usual flippancy, then she sobered again. “You did say he’d be alright, didn’t you?”

Mac sighed. “Shouldn’t have more than a well-deserved hangover, Phryne.”

———

There were quite a few things that Mac expected could rouse her out of bed on a Saturday morning; Jack Robinson was not one of them, unless he came with a body. But that was exactly what she found on the other side of the door.

“I wasn’t aware you knew where I lived,” she said, keeping the door open just enough to watch him.

He blushed. “Police officer,” he explained. “I’m very sorry to intrude, Doctor MacMillan, but I needed to speak with you.”

“What’s she done now?”

“Nothing! Or... “ he actually shifted, moving his fedora back and forth in his hands. “I need to ask your opinion on a delicate matter. Regarding Miss Fisher.”

Shaking her head, Mac moved aside. 

“Tea? Or I have coffee.”

“Tea would be fine, thank you.”

She put the kettle on, shifted a pile of journals off the kitchen table. He stood awkwardly, until Mac gestured to the chair, and then took a seat.

“Do I go after her?” 

Mac nearly dropped the canister of tea in surprise.

“Why would you do a thing like that?” she asked.

“She didn’t mention it?” he asked, sounding oddly deflated.

“You aren’t attempting a grand romantic gesture, are you? Phryne’s not the type to appreciate it. Seduced, yes, and you might have been most of the way there with the waltz, but you can’t chase a woman like Phryne Fisher.”

He looked repulsed. Full points to him.

“No! No. I, uh, went to the airfield this morning.”

“Oh no,” Mac groaned. Bad idea. “And you’re still alive?”

“Unless this is hell, and I’m not completely ruling out the possibility.”

“ _Why_? You can’t have possibly thought you could convince her to stay?”

He smiled wryly. “I think I’ve known her long enough to know that she doesn’t do anything she doesn’t want to.”

“I’m not certain she _wanted_ to go,” Mac admitted; it occurred to her there was nobody in the world but Jack Robinson she would say such a thing to. Nobody else who knew and cared for Phryne in this particular way.

“She chose to leave,” Jack said, without a hint of censure. “Her father might be an aggravating, self-aggrandising…”

“Arsehole scum-of-the-earth blowhard?” Mac supplied helpfully.

“If we’re being diplomatic,” smiled Jack. “But she made her choice to fly him home. She doesn’t have to justify that to me, or to anybody else, and asking her to stay didn’t even occur to me.”

Mac looked at him carefully.

“You really do mean that, don’t you?”

“I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t,” he said.

The kettle boiled at just that moment, and Mac busied herself making the tea. 

“Do you love her?” she eventually asked, bringing over a tray with a teapot and two cups; she suspected she knew the answer, had seen it in swallow brooches and calm reassurances and the undeniable affection between them.

“More than anything,” he admitted, his smile wry. “And quite possibly against my better judgment.”

“And now you want to follow her across the world for it?”

“For her,” he corrected. “That’s why I’m here. She asked me to go after her—”

“She actually _asked_ you?”

“More like ordered,” he laughed. “But I’m not certain whether she meant it literally, or…?”

For just a moment, he looked incredibly young and incredibly vulnerable. Mac poured them both tea and moved to the counter to grab a notebook and pen.

“I have generally found that Phryne can be impulsive, but she is never insincere or callous with other people’s hearts,” Mac said, flipping open the notebook. “If she asked you to follow her, we had better start planning your route.”


End file.
